Harry Potter and the Strange Case of the Snuggling
by Mebina Sobriquet
Summary: Harry keeps awaking wrapped around Draco, who does Not Do Cuddling with all the extra seriousness the capitalisation awards. Cracky schmoop ensues.


_Harry Potter and the strange case of the snuggling in the night-time._

A/N: So, this is the first H/D thing I've written in a while, and it is in line with my current cuddling,snuggling, schmoopy fluffy fluff state of mind. I'm going through exams, ok? I need all the happiness I can get. Not mine, don't blame me, Drarry. I think that's all the information you need. 

When Harry wakes, he's cuddling Draco, his nose buried in the blonde hair that smells inexplicably floral in a masculine kind of way, his lips pressing into the nape of his neck. Like, full-on spooning him. Which, on it's own, doesn't sound too bad- after all, Harry likes cuddling, Draco's his boyfriend, and that gives Harry cuddling rights. Doesn't it? The only problem in the whole situation is Draco, who does Not. Do. Cuddling. With all that the extra capitalisation entails. And Draco does Not. Do. Cuddling so much so that when Harry'd last tried to get a bit too schmoopy, he'd slept on the couch for a week. That is, Harry had slept on the couch, while Draco had reclined like a prince on their enormous bed. Or possibly more like a queen. Harry sniggers.

At any rate, that doesn't get him out of the current situation, so Harry starts a quick game of pick-up-sticks with their sleep heavy limbs, ever-so-carefully easing his out from under Draco's and being quite proud of his stealthiness. The instant he's moved the last arm off Draco's side, the Slytherin stirs, rolls over and smiles at Harry with his sleepy early-morning grin, and this and the fact that for a second Harry thinks that he's been caught in the heinous act of un-cuddling combine to nearly give him a heart attack. Harry covers this with what he thinks is a very suave _"Ah! Huh! Justmakingsomefrenchtoast! Right now!" _and rolls off the bed, following it up with some pained-yet-manly moaning when he stubs his toe on the stupidly-placed floor as he's leaping out of the door. This is possibly why he misses Draco's fond eye-rolling, and the slight guilty blush that springs to his boyfriend's cheeks.

The second time, he's even more confused, if that's possible. Harry loves cuddling Draco, he'll admit to that much on any day of the week, depending on who's asking. Probably not if it's Rita Skeeta. Or Lucius Malfoy. Or Professor Slughorn- though why he would be asking is a bit of a disturbing thought, Harry thinks. But moving on from whom he would or would not admit the fact to, while Harry loves cuddling Draco, up until this point he has never had to worry about doing it in his _sleep_, and Harry thinks that this is just a little bit unfair. It won't happen again, Harry thinks, and Draco looks at him a little strangely when Harry starts whispering it to himself as they're getting ready for bed (which in Harry's case involves putting on his pyjamas and doing his teeth, but in Draco's seems to involve a lot more flannels and assorted jars of cream, but Harry doesn't complain because the scent is _ohmyGodamazing, _and he happens to be quite partial to the feel of Draco's silky-smooth skin under his. Though he thinks that the skin would probably be amazing whether or not it had cream applied to it, but oh well. What's money for, after all, but making boyfriends happy?). But if concentrating very hard can wake you up at the right hour, surely it is enough to make you sleep on your own side of the bed for a change, Harry thinks. He settles down into his pillows with a contented sigh, tendrils of Draco's varied scents drifting through the darkness towards him and pulling on his lids.

Turns out, concentrating just doesn't do it, so Harry works hard on extricating his limbs again the next morning, and the heart attack when Draco shifts afterwards is perhaps not quite so startling. Harry thinks.

That day he decides that maybe his protective instincts are not getting enough work during daylight and are trying to take it out on him at night, so he takes Draco to a local football match, rugging him up in jumpers and scarves until he looks like a little knitted snowball. Unfortunately Draco catches a glimpse of himself in an icy puddle while he's standing on the front doorstep and so Harry has to wait twenty minutes while he takes half of them off again. But when they eventually get out of the house, one of Harry's Weasley jumpers is still rugging up Draco's little frame, a glare over the top of a bobbly scarf of Hermione's giving Harry a challenge to mention it that he doesn't quite dare take up. Anyway- he thinks Draco looks bloody adorable. He spends a lot of the game and the walk home carefully leading Draco around assorted puddles and rowdy drunks, hand on Draco's elbow to catch him if he slips, and thinks that this must be all the protection-ing his instincts could ever want. The way Draco's breath steams mistily in the air before evaporating is just too enticing, so Harry takes the frozen-lipped kisses as a bonus.

He's surprised, if not disappointed, when he wakes up curled around a still-bejumpered Draco the next morning, but lets himself linger there for a few moments longer. Protective instincts be damned- he needs a new theory.

Closeness- that's the solution, Harry decides. Some closeness during the day ought to fill his closeness quota, whatever that is. He steals touches during the day- a hand lingering on Draco's arm as he peers at the _Prophet _over his shoulder, a hip-bump as they're walking side-by-side round the park. He gets a glare rather than a shy smile when he attempts a hair-ruffle, and a "Potter, what on _earth_ do you think you're doing?" when he tries to squash too close to Draco on the couch, but other than that it seems to be going quite well, Harry thinks with a smile. He's quite pleased with himself on this one. That night he draws it out, touching Draco's thighs and his stomach, teasingly leaving kisses everywhere but where Draco wants them and walking his fingers closer and closer to Draco's forbidden little crease until his Slytherin snaps at him to _fucking hurry up and fuck him already_. He lubes up as slowly as he can, holding Draco's hips down to slide into him at his own pace, fucking into him gently for as long as he can manage. Draco seems to enjoy it, too, arcing his back as Harry shifts his angle to hit Draco's prostate, and letting out what Harry could only label a keening noise as Harry tweaks his nipple. As he comes, he even allows a kiss, slow and hot and languid, and Harry feels the heat bubble up inside him as he swallows down Draco's gasp, coming a moment later as Draco contracts around him. They clean up with a damp cloth and collapse onto the bed again, Harry careful to stay on his own side as he falls into sleep. Not that this seems to stop him from waking up wrapped around his boyfriend for what seems like the hundredth time, but hey- he tried. Perhaps all the touching had sent his brain the wrong idea.

Harry tries extra-rough sex the next night, hardly lubing up at all and slamming in to the root in one go after only a tiny bit of preparation. He enjoys this, too, and so does Draco from his grunts and gasps, but somehow it's not as satisfying as it used to be. Their swearing seems to paint the room even darker, and when Draco says _"God." _Harry can't help replying _"Just Harry."_, and probably deserves the vicious pull on his hair that Draco gives as payback. Still- he's exhausted by the time it's over and they've cleaned themselves up, and he falls asleep thinking that it'll be a wonder if he can move even after a full night's sleep. As it turns out, he could manage even without it.

Over the next week, Harry tries jogging just before bed, coming in sweaty and puffing and feeling like he's just run a marathon, and then suffering through a shower after encountering the set of Draco's eyebrows that says _"You don't think you're getting in my bed like __**that**__?"_.

He tries going up to bed before Draco, going up after him, wearing pyjamas that leave him almost unable to move his arms and falling asleep clinging to the bed frame. Somehow Harry slips out of the pyjama top in the middle of the night, unbuttoning it as he does and even leaving it folded on the floor, which he thinks is extremely bizarre- he would have expected Draco to be the obsessively neat sleep-folder, not himself. But however he manages it, the next morning he's wrapped around the Slytherin like usual.

He tries eating cheese, in case a wild dream or two can wake him before he has a chance to get into the cuddling-phase of sleep, and then he tries not eating cheese. He tries a hot bath, which turns into hot hot-bath sex, Draco slipping in and straddling him, hand slipping over Harry's impossibly hard cock like liquid heat and then riding him with _fuckingamazing_ twists of his hips.

He tries a cold shower, which unsurprisingly leads to no sex at all, and Harry decides that even if that particular trick had worked, it wouldn't be terribly helpful for long-term use. Thankfully for the both of them, it doesn't.

He falls asleep staring at the ceiling, hands trapped underneath his back, and staring at the pillows with his hands trapped beneath his stomach, but all that achieves is a bad case of pins and needles buzzing through his skin until he falls asleep, gone by the time he wakes up with his hands curled in Draco's shirt or flat against the warm skin of his chest.

A deep-sleep potion leaves him snoozing a day away, and for once Draco has to extricate himself from Harry's arms in the morning, Harry giving him an apologetic glance and feeling relieved when all Draco does is shake his head and roll his eyes. He would be more surprised, but the next minute his eyes are sliding shut again and by the time he wakes up he's forgotten the whole incident. By the time he wakes up it's also dark, and Draco is sitting beside him and looking a little worried, his slim fingers sliding Harry's hair back to feel his forehead. When Harry explains that he may have overdosed on deep-sleep he gets a very concerned glance, and is immediately dragged down to the kitchen to be plied with scrambled eggs, pepper-up and glasses of milk, though Harry's still finding his limbs a little heavy to move. Draco heaves him upstairs again and leaves Harry flopped on his face on the bed while he goes through his bedtime rituals of face washing and cream-applying. He pulls Harry out of one pair of pyjamas and into another despite the Gryffindor's protests, laying a few hard swats on Harry's arse as he does so and promising more if Harry ever takes another potion without reading the label again. Harry laughs at Draco's words, but the blonde's face is scarily set, and Harry feels a happy little twist of his stomach and jump of his cock even though his arse stings. He decides to keep this information to himself for another night, and enjoys the extra kiss Draco presses to the tip of his nose before the Slytherin rolls over so Harry is facing his back like usual. Harry falls asleep quickly tonight, deciding that since all his efforts have been in vain, he might as well give up for good. Draco can't banish him to the sofa for _ever,_ now can he?

Harry sleeps fitfully, and wakes up to the decidedly odd feeling of his limbs moving without his conscious decision to shift them. It's almost like falling, he thinks, or flying, but when he opens his eyes he can't quite believe what he's seeing. He shuts them again, counts to ten, and opens them to find that he's seen correctly the first time- Draco, _his Draco_, carefully lifting up Harry's arm and pulling it over Draco's chest. Harry stiffens in shock and feels Draco stiffen underneath him, little shallow breaths sounding almost nervous, and Harry consciously relaxes, head lolling forward again on the pillow while he decides what to do. Draco makes a funny little snorting laugh and Harry somehow holds his in- man, will this be teasing material forever or what? As if the arm over Draco's chest wasn't enough, Harry feels the blonde shifting backward until their bodies are flush together, Draco's chill seeping through Harry's body as his delicate scent drifts up his nostrils. Harry gives a contented sigh and buries his nose in Draco's neck, enjoying the little jump of Draco's body beneath his and the relieved sigh when Harry pretends to murmur in his sleep. Harry decides that he's going to have a little fun with this- payback for all the worry Draco caused him in the first place.

"You'll never guess- I had the weirdest dream last night." Harry says, back to Draco to hide the grin.

"Yeah?" Draco yawns, scraping butter over the toast Harry passes him.

"So I dreamt I was just lying there in bed, right?" Harry says, "but then someone started full-on pulling me over them, until we were practically spooning. Strange, huh?" He holds back a laugh as Draco coughs, spitting out toast crumbs before gulping down the glass of water Harry presses on him.

"Yeah- strange." he rasps, when Harry asks him again. "Toast went down the wrong way." There's no doubt about it, Harry thinks. That was no dream.

That day, Harry drapes himself over Draco wherever and whenever possible, enjoying the little startled glances Draco gives him but meeting them with innocently open ones of his own.

"What?" he asks, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, arm thrown across Draco's shoulders as they're settled on the couch listening to the wireless. Draco looks at him like he's mad, mutters something about Harry finally cracking it, or pushing it, or something, but Harry doesn't listen too closely when he isn't pushed away, and it's a hardship to move off to bed at the end of the program. There's just something comforting about being near Draco, feeling his warmth and his scent and his closeness. He feels protective and protected, and above all _comfortable_, as if it's always been this way between them. He enjoys ruffling Draco's unsettled exterior just a little, too, but tells himself that it's completely justified.

Harry feels his arm stirring again, stays carefully floppy until Draco's moved his arm round to his chest and shifted back against him. Harry says still for another couple of seconds, waiting for Draco's breathing to slow a little and for the blonde to nuzzle his head back under Harry's chin like Harry is hoping for. He counts to three, feeling Draco sigh contentedly beneath him, and then suddenly shuts his arms tight around Draco's sides, squeezing him tight and pressing his lips to Draco's ear.

"Got you." he whispers, and Draco squirms underneath him, wriggling violently to get away.

"Harry!" Draco squeaks, "What are you- oh! - doing?" Harry's hand has slipped down Draco's chest to pinch lightly at a nipple, which is possibly cheating, but Harry likes the little mewl it creates.

"It was you all along, wasn't it?" he asks, wrapping his arms more snugly around Draco's body. "Stealth cuddler!" Draco squeaks his denial for a few minutes, growing increasingly squirmy and fidgety in Harry's arms, but he flops still after Harry sucks a possessive kiss on the back of Draco's neck. "Go on- say it. Admit it- you've been doing this all along, haven't you?" Harry says, hand running down Draco's body to play with the course hairs leading to Draco's cock. Draco's fidgeting again, hips pumping like he wants Harry's fingers to move just the couple of inches that will give him what he wants. Harry tweaks the nipple again and gets another mewling noise which travels straight to his cock, and Draco's hand sneaks down to push Harry's fingers closer to the head of Draco's member. "Uh-uh." Harry whispers. "Not until you say it." Draco gives a frustrated moan, hips still pumping against thin air, but Harry is firm. "Go on- one little yes." he says. "One little yes between my hand and your cock." He licks his way up the shell of Draco's ear and gets a little shiver.

When Draco finally manages a little whispered "yes." Harry thinks it's the sweetest word he's ever heard, and slips his hand down to pump at Draco's throbbing cock, thumb swirling over the head on every second pull before rolling him over and taking his own in hand as well. The feel of them together, slick with pre-come, warm and hard, combines with the musky scent of sex to make Harry salivate, and it's no less exciting than the first time they'd done it, a hand job in the dark of a shared dorm room, two teenagers fumbling in the dark. They manage to keep it together for a little longer than when they were teenagers, but it seems no time at all before they're both shooting over each other's stomachs and chests, panting loudly into the still air of their bedroom. Harry procures a warm cloth from somewhere, cleans them both off and pulls Draco closer when the blonde tries to roll away again like nothing has happened.

"I don't think so." Harry whispers, throwing a possessive arm over Draco's side and marvelling at how natural it seems. "You promised."

"I hardly think one yes construes a promise." Draco mutters, stiff against Harry's side, but after a few seconds he seems to melt, nuzzling backwards and sighing contentedly.

"I think it does, li-"

"If you say little spoon, I'll-"

"Stop being the little spoon?" Harry asks, innocently, and Draco huffs his annoyance.

"Night, little spoon." Harry says pointedly, shifting his hips against Draco's and sliding one leg between the Slytherin's slender ones, but Draco's growl transforms into a yawn and a contented sigh.

"Night, ridiculous, sentimental _Gryffindor_." Draco says, but the perceived insult comes out quite fondly, and is swallowed by a soft moan as Harry kisses the nape of his neck, which rather spoils the effect.

"You love it." Harry whispers, and really- Draco can't argue with that.

_A/N: And, clearly, neither can I. Reviews are hugs.  
_MS xx


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